Security Measures
by PsychoDirector
Summary: A one-shot poem about one man's struggle to survive his own paranoia, and what it took to save him--from himself. Because there really is a conspiracy, and when there is, sometimes security measures must be taken. And fire's the best measure there is.


**_Psycho Director: _Hello. In case you're wondering what I'm doing here, and why am I not working on _Cheating Death 101, _the reason is quite simple: YOU'RE GAY AND YOU WERE ADOPTED AND YOUR PARENTS DON'T LOVE YOU. 8O No, I'm lying. I was actually just trying to calmly go to sleep one night, dreaming peacefully of Nightmares and Heartless... es, when something strange happened. I bolted up in a cold sweat, screaming, "What's _with _those f'ing _Rainbow Squirts_!?" Only I whispered it because my brother was sleeping. 8D I brainstormed this for a little, along with other things, and this was the love-child of science, insomnia, and imagination in a sexy, sexy three-way. I shall call it _Security Measures_, and raise it as my own.**

**WARNING: This might, just maybe, make you cry. Or at least really sad. I don't know. I'm fairly bad at manipulating emotions other than laughter and evil. Sad is not my forte. Still, I gave this my all (I probably should have left some to help me remember my way back home, but naaah), and this is what happened.**

**And I'm not even going to remind you all of my lack of ownership over Psychonauts here, because I should think my femininity should be a daily reminder of how I am not, in fact, Tim Schafer. So there.**

**And yes, this rhymes. Like Dr. Suess, if he ever made a story about murder and burning down department stores.**

**CONTAINS THE SPOILERS FOR BOYD'S MIND!!**

**Oh, and one more thing. This story is told in three parts:**

**_-THEN-: _Before the game.**

**_-NOW-: _During the game.**

**_-LATER-: _After the game.**

**Got it? Good. That is all.

* * *

**

_-THE BEGINNING-_

* * *

_-THEN-_

_

* * *

_

She was special to him, delightful and fair, 

_With curly red pigtails that bounced in the air._

_And when she would smile, why, it would rival the sun._

_He loved her so much, that special little one._

_She was the best daughter he could have ever had._

_Though her mother was gone, he never saw her sad._

_She just kept a light grin on her lightly tanned face,_

_And laughed as she skated all over the place._

_When he saw her laugh, well, he had to laugh, too._

_She kept his quaint life worth living through._

_When she wanted to be a Scout, he just couldn't refuse._

_She was his little rainbow squirt, dressed in pretty green hues. _

_With her selling cookies, and him guarding the store,_

_Their quaint little life was one to adore._

_But one day that little Scout did not return,_

_From her door-to-door sales, and the guard was concerned._

_He got into his car and drove into the night,_

_In the hopes that his rainbow squirt would still be all right._

_But as the hour dragged on, his concern did grow,_

_And he pushed that poor pedal as far as it would go._

_Racing over a hill, his headlights did gleam,_

_When from under the tires there came a sudden scream._

_He ground on the brakes and leapt out without lack,_

_Only to land in a puddle of black._

_He looked just ahead and saw with a fright,_

_His little rainbow squirt, returning home for the night._

_He screamed out her name, begged her not to go still,_

_But he was already too late, for his maniac thrill,_

_His rush, his hurry, his being paranoid,_

_Was what cost his daughter her life for that poor man named Boyd._

_As he left the next day he thought his boss would be sympathetic,_

_However, instead, he thought the whole thing pathetic._

_As he smoked on his pipe, he gave a jerk of his hand,_

_To kick poor Boyd out was his wicked demand._

_And Boyd, the guard, a family of one,_

_Determined that this tale was over and done._

_He drank into the night, dim like a dream,_

_When from out of the blue he came up with a scheme._

_He reached into the fridge and pulled out a bottle of white,_

_Then poured it into the sink with delight._

_Another bottle followed, and soon there were four,_

_And once that was done, there was still to be more._

_He filled them with alcohol and stuffed in them rags,_

_His eyes glinting maniacally above twin dark bags._

_As he stole to the store, milk bottles at his side,_

_His face was dyed red from the flames lit inside._

_In poor Boyd's mind, something did snap,_

_And he laughed as he set off his psychopathic trap._

_When the store was set alight, like the burning of a witch,_

_He yelled, "Can't have cookies without milk, eh, you son-of-a-bitch!"_

_And he watched the store as it burned to the ground,_

_Until all he could see were red and blue all around._

_He laughed once more as they took him away from the pain,_

_And laughed as they poured his milk down the drain._

_It wasn't until a voice said, "this isn't right!"_

_That it was all washed away, all his anger and spite._

_It was the voice of the rainbow squirt he had missed so,_

_That he hit with his car so long ago._

_She looked down on him, with a sad gleam in her eye,_

_And asked him to stop, for it made her cry._

_And with her sweet voice did the Milkman cry, too,_

_When he suddenly learned he didn't know what to do._

_At her comforting tone, Boyd locked the Milkman away,_

_Praying to God he wouldn't return some day._

_And for this good deed, the little girl did swear,_

_To protect her daddy from what he kept in there._

_She kept him on an island in a tiny town,_

_Locked away with his milk from anyone around._

_He was tethered to the land by two small phone cords,_

_Put into place by the guard's accord._

_So by sliding across, every now and then,_

_His little rainbow squirt could see him again._

_And so it was, for a very long while,_

_Even as the town became more twisted and vile._

_For Boyd's mind, secretly, wanted to find,_

_That impressive bit of anger it must have left behind._

_It sent in its agents, brave men of the G,_

_To try and find out where the Milkman could be._

_They set up their cameras and asked around,_

_But those brave Rainbow Squirts all held their ground._

_And the denizens of the mind lived in odd harmony_

_Though the Squirts sometimes hurt the men of the G,_

_So the G-men built lines that the Squirts did attest,_

_If they should cross them they'd be put under arrest._

_But the Squirts were nothing if they were not bright,_

_They built props and thrust them into the G-men's sight._

_And the G-men, so simple, believed the Squirts to be,_

_Just more G-men from their conspiracy._

_So those crafty Squirts went and built up a track,_

_Of items to use so the G-men wouldn't attack._

_And they started this trail at an odd residence,_

_Where one man had lived for ages hence._

_His name was Boyd Cooper, and he spent every day,_

_Contemplating to himself where the Milkman did lay._

_And as he did his mind furthered the conspiracy plot,_

_His promise to his daughter lying quickly forgot._

_He scribbled his plans on the padded walls, _

_Until one day a short man came to call. _

_He offered Boyd milk (milk!) and a job as a guard,_

_Assigned to watch over an abandoned asylum yard._

_And when Boyd wondered where he'd had a job like this before,_

_He realized he could not remember anymore._

_Those cookies he was offered seemed familiar, too,_

_About someone important, but he could not remember who._

_So, confused and interested, Boyd sneaked out with the man,_

_Even though this seemed like what the warden would ban._

_They boated across a lake, to a creepy dark tower,_

_And Boyd was handed chalk to help him pass the hour._

_He waited at the entrance, for what, he didn't know,_

_The Milkman had the key, after all, as the man had told him so._

_And if the _Milkman_ had the key, than what was _he_ needed there?_

_But there were conspiracies to settle, first, so he wrote without care._

_The crows all came to settle, but he paid them no mind,_

_And pressed his chalk against the wall and brought it to a grind._

_The time ticked by in slow as he filled space on the wall,_

_Muttering about the Milkman and whoever else involved.

* * *

_

**-NOW-

* * *

**_The moon shone down that one long night,_

_Casting his new blue suit into the light._

_He knew—but not where—he had seen it before,_

_But he was so close to a breakthrough it could wait a little more._

_The cats! Of course! They were in on it, too!_

_He chuckled to himself as a new plan he drew._

_He was so certain that he just plain ignored,_

_The crows cawing out as into the sky they soared._

_Then he glanced down and saw the face of a child,_

_The reason behind the crows going wild._

_He felt rather sad as he heard the boy plea,_

_But calmly explained that he did not have the key._

_The boy seemed adamant, he wanted to get inside,_

_But the door was locked shut, and the Milkman did hide._

_Then from out of his pocket came a tiny door,_

_The likes of which Boyd had never seen before._

_Then, with a jerk, it was flung at his head._

"_Not another tracking device!" was the last thing Boyd said._

_Then he and the boy were flung into the town,_

_Safe in Boyd's house from any watchers around._

_Boyd glanced at the house, then, struck with a thought,_

_Rubbed his chin over something forgot._

_If the Psychonauts were involved, unless there was a mistake,_

_Why this must have to do with the camp across the lake!_

_And as he rubbed out a mismatching part of his plan,_

_He brushed off the child's questions about the Milkman._

_The little boy didn't know, he could not see,_

_Just how obvious it was starting to be. _

_The squirrels and the cougars must collaborate!_

_(He noticed the little boy was becoming irate)_

_He scribbled a quick note on the blackboard's ridge,_

_Then told the little boy to grab what he left in the fridge._

_He made a quiet protest, then ran and opened the door,_

_And pulled out the thing he was looking for._

_He walked over to Boyd, and then did inquire,_

_Was it true that the Milkman had died in that fire?_

_Boyd only smirked, and said that it's true,_

"_Or that's what the media would tell you."_

_Boyd created a door, then bid him his best,_

_To see if he would pass the conspiracy test._

_As the little boy followed the trail in his mind,_

_Old security guard Boyd chose to stay behind._

_He kept chalking out theories to run through,_

_Never once noticing what that little boy did do. _

_It was only when the little boy returned with a book,_

_That Boyd halted his plans and stopped in for a look._

_The book depository was where this should go!_

_He should head over there! But wait. But no._

_There was work to be done and ideas to be read,_

_He'd just have to send the little boy instead._

_He gave him a prop that he'd found lying around,_

_To help him navigate through the twisted town. _

_It was a prop rifle, a fake, a joke,_

_But it was enough to get past those trench-coated folk._

_The little boy asked for a real gun to use,_

_Boyd laughed and gave an ironic refuse._

_Give a loaded gun to a ten-year-old boy?_

_He'd have to be crazy! That wasn't a toy!_

_And so the little boy left in an angry huff,_

_And Boyd returned to his conspiracy stuff._

_Only twice after did Boyd's mind give a jerk,_

_For memories of dark things that still did lurk._

_He remembered sorrow, as his mind gave a whirl,_

_And the smiling face of a sweet little girl._

_And once, oh yes, the department store fire,_

_He remembered the rage he had felt, and sadistic desire._

_These feelings rose up as twisted Nightmares,_

_That dragged the little boy to their fiery lairs._

_Boyd gave a great jump as they grabbed at his skin,_

_And pulled the innocent boy somewhere within. _

_But the boy was crafty, and shot them to bits,_

_And after a moment returned to the surface. _

_Boyd watched with surprise as it all climaxed,_

_When the Censors, Squirts, and G-men all jumped out to attack._

_And as Censors and Squirts fought against one another,_

_The little boy and the Den Mother faced each other._

_The little boy was the victor, there could be no doubt,_

_But something was set loose and Mother let out a shout._

_For all of the plans and the great conspiracy,_

_It took one little boy to set the Milkman free._

_When that store had burned, Boyd knew just who to blame,_

_For he and the Milkman were one and the same._

He _had hit _his_ Squirt that one fateful day!_

_And _he _had burned the department store away!_

_Now it was true, the Milkman was free,_

_And he had to make his final delivery._

_The was only one way to put the Milkman to rest,_

_He knew of the events here, and this was for the best._

_He pulled out his milk bottles and carefully took aim,_

_So the dark, twisted tower would never be seen again._

_He watched as it burned, the inmates at his side,_

_No longer feeling as he had when the department store died._

_The spirit of his daughter could at last be set free,_

_No longer guarding a bad memory._

_Even the Milkman floated far away,_

_A manifestation of rage from one crazy day._

_He no longer needed the men of the G._

_Maybe they'd find another mind to live in happily._

_Was that possible? Right now, who knew?_

_His days of theories at last were through._

_He knew they'd be happy in Gloria's head,_

_Learning to perfect their acting instead._

_And Fred's mind, he's sure, would be the same,_

_If only they knew that Waterloo game._

_In Edgar's mind, well, it was a big city. _

_And places like that needed people to be._

_He kept his mind on that as he turned to his friends,_

_Just wondering how they would get off the island._

_But even that concept could not bring him strife,_

_For that one little boy may have saved his life._

_Even as they chatted, he knew without a doubt,_

_That twisted old town was evening out._

_When he looked around, he discovered with shock,_

_That brand new ideas were beginning to unlock._

_And when he explored them, his town did change,_

_Into something creative, delightfully strange._

_There were more possibilities than ever before,_

_And his little town grew to something much more._

_Buildings changed shape, and color, and size,_

_Expanding and changing behind excited eyes._

_That's when he knew he'd be perfectly OK,_

_When his twisted conspiracy all gave way.

* * *

_

**-LATER-**

* * *

_Days passed, time moved, and people grew,_

_And our favorite man Boyd found that he did, too._

_He got a job working at the camp across the lake,_

_Helping with what problems the campers might make._

_When the teachers were busy he let them enter his head,_

_And told them about baggage and cobweb thread._

_Fred and Sheegor, he saw, were working there, too._

_Turns out the camp was rather low on crew._

_Edgar did art shows and Gloria became a famous star,_

_But to Boyd and Fred, "we're happy where we are."_

_And can you imagine old Boyd's great surprise when,_

_He found out one of the campers was dear old Razputin?_

_It seemed it was a small world, but one of a kind._

_Rather unlike his old, twisted mind._

_The three friends worked together in a sweet harmony,_

_(And got together every weekend for football and tea)._

_Once, a boy asked, why did Boyd seem so unexciting?_

_And Boyd only laughed at what should have seemed biting._

_It seemed his hard life had come back to its start,_

_But with no sudden insanity to break this time apart._

_But once in a while Boyd looked out at the water,_

_And shed a small tear for his long lost daughter. _

_Sometimes he wondered, if that old car has just missed,_

_Would his life still be as placid as this?_

_That's when he learned someone else was there,_

_Crying on the lake over someone who'd cared._

_Her name was Milla, and she shared her tale,_

_Of a time of loss, when her protection once failed._

_And as she spoke, old Boyd did know,_

_Just how far communication could go._

_Though he couldn't go in Milla's head and clear out her brain,_

_He could try and help her be happy again._

_He had learned her heart belonged to a man he'd never met,_

_But that didn't matter—it wasn't love that kept him set._

_Instead it was kindness and empathy,_

_For just how hard losing someone he knew could be._

_The two spent a very long time sitting at the lake,_

_Talking about their sad mistake._

_But as they left, they each felt a little more well,_

_Knowing they were no longer alone in their personal hell._

_Someday Sasha would help Milla through her hard time,_

_But for now, just a talk would still be sublime._

_And someday Boyd may find another woman to speak to,_

_But for now, friendship would just have to do._

_And Boyd walked back to camp wearing a smile,_

_Knowing he'd done something right for once in a while._

_Boyd sat in the main lodge, still wearing his grin,_

_When Fred turned and asked him where had he been._

_And Boyd spoke back to Fred, and a message he did send._

"_Quite simply put, I was helping a friend."

* * *

_

_**-THE END-

* * *

**_


End file.
